


Alpha Male

by Frankie (Tawny)



Series: Quotes & People Who Like Them [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: The kids needed a break, This is NOT ABOverse, a smooth case for once, spencer saves a child and suddenly Gets It, this was lovely to write this morning honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 11:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13703952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tawny/pseuds/Frankie
Summary: "That's quite enough." Hotchner's words came down like a hammer. Reid couldn't meet Emily's eye when she turned to look at him, and she was frozen, processing for a second before her mouth fell open, eyes widening. Since she'd arrived at the BAU, Emily had been striving to get off Reid's shit list. This clearly wouldn't earn her any favors, but more than just piss him off, he seemed genuinely saddened by her words.The team is called out to central Montana to investigate a kidnapping. Meanwhile, Spencer feels out of place, Aaron has a heavy heart, and Derek is a quiet confidante.





	Alpha Male

**Author's Note:**

> _Character is a diamond that scratches every other stone._  
>  — Cryrus A. Bartol

Here's what this job consisted of.

  
Every day, the bullpen would be occupied by the BAU, scurrying agents flitting through files, perching on desks or discreetly throwing paper airplanes. Every day, Aaron Hotchner watched his team from his office window, arms crossed and face stoic, only the slightest hint of a smile gracing his countenance, invisible through the partition of partially parted blinds. 

And every  _other_  day, this team piled, single-file, into a plane and they would travel across the country. His agents ( _and_  his doctor) would proceed to be thoroughly traumatized over the span of a few days, and they would limp back onto the jet, wheels would go up, and they would arrive, dazed, exhausted, wounded, back at Quantico. From there, they'd go home, lay their heads down, catch maybe twenty minutes of sleep, and receive another phone call, snapping their eyes open. It was a horrible cycle, and Aaron wished he could be more forgiving on his team- his family, really- but in his defense, everything went through JJ before reaching him.

Today, they were in Montana, and it wasn't his office window Hotchner was peering through, cross-armed and stoic as he observed his team, but rather, a double-sided mirror. Prentiss was making fast work of a suspect who was turning out to be nothing more than a coward. Definitely a pedophile with folders upon folders of CP to convict upon, but definitely not their unsub. Clearly, Emily had come to that conclusion on her own, because she'd dropped her good-cop ditziness, clumsy giggles replaced with a disgusted slow nod. They were done here. Hotchner rapped thrice against the mirror, sighing and turning away, pocketing his hands.

  
Astasia Moore, a sixteen year old girl, had been abducted in her front yard before school this morning. Whoever had taken her was so incredibly swift and could so easily overpower her, she didn't even have the chance to unlock her car before she was gone, keys abandoned in the driveway.

Cases like this made Aaron's chest feel funny. It was difficult to breathe properly, knowing Jack was fast approaching the preferential age for abduction.  
The door to his right was pushed open, and Aaron could almost taste the effort it took Prentiss to resist slamming it.

"I know," he sighed. "You don't need to be there any longer than you already have, we have actual leads to chase."

"It's already been four hours," Reid murmured quietly, though helpfully. Prentiss only fixed Hotchner with an expression that was difficult to read, caught somewhere between an apology and an appeal. She opted not to say anything, simply nodding, taking her hair down, and exiting the interrogation room altogether. "... Did I say something?"

"She's had a rough morning." His voice was clipped, but not rude; it was a simple observation. Bradbury had been Prentiss' gut instinct, and he was clean (contextually). Hotchner made a note to pull her aside and remind her that she had, in fact, caught a menace to society. "Come on, she's got the right idea, we shouldn't waste time here." He clapped a hand onto Spencer's shoulder, who pushed his hip off the table he was leaning against, uncrossing his arms as he did so. It wasn't like it mattered. They'd combed the crime scene, Garcia had narrowed down a suspect list, and JJ was wrangling the press. Morgan was hunting suspects down with Rossi and roughly sixty officers scattered around the county, but the list was so inconclusive, they were starting to follow unrelated leads. The fact is, if there was anything they could even do in the field, Hotchner, Prentiss, and Reid would be out there. They were better here, talking to the family and listening for updates.

"She shouldn't be so hard on herself," said Reid as they migrated through the station. "You profiled our guy as an alpha male. Bradbury is... anything but."

"Looks can be deceiving," he was reminded.

Reid scoffed. "Well, yeah, but— he almost pissed himself when he read the letters on Morgan's chest, Hotch."

"Because he was actually guilty of something."

"Exactly. She shouldn't be so hard on herself. You didn't let me finish." Aaron hummed his concession, rounding a desk as Reid involuntarily straightened a crime scene photograph where it lay atop a folder. The men dropped the subject. Nothing more needed to be said— even when Hotchner wasn't listening, he was  _listening_.

They  _did_  move on, however.

"Speaking of alpha male," Hotchner uttered quietly, close to Spencer's ear, dropping his eyes surreptitiously to the very, very interesting file he'd read about twelve times already as he sat down. "Check your six."

Well accustomed to this game, Spencer repressed a grin, acting naturally and letting his eyes float around the station for a few seconds before turning to look over his shoulder at a red-faced, thick (but not overweight) officer. He wasn't angry, just very assertive and domineering as he spoke to the secretary, boasting about something she could clearly not be any more interested in. When he turned back to Hotchner, the chief was smiling.

Sometimes, Spencer wondered if his mere, eager participation in their quiet people watching habit was what warmed him up. Honestly, if it meant he stopped walking around with an expression that screamed "I'm burning alive right now," it was well worth it. Besides, it was amusing to Reid as well, and this cop wasn't hurting anyone. He was just very oblivious to how moronic he looked.

"God, I'm glad I don't fall into your subspecies," Reid joked, hopping up onto the desk, pulling a leg up with him. In response, Hotchner only raised an eyebrow, genuinely absorbed in the file now. "I mean, it's no secret that I'm no alpha male."

That gave Aaron reason for pause, a page frozen mid-turn, and he blinked. Closing the file, he looked up at Reid, brows pulling together slightly. "Is that supposed to mean something, Doctor?" Sure, Hotchner knew he could be intimidating, but he wasn't  _that_  bad... Was he?

"Well, no. Not inherently." 

"Then..."

"My father was a classic alpha male," he shrugged. "... Is, I suppose."

No more blinking, but rather, a more pregnant, less comfortable silence. Reid broke eye contact, examining his shoe laces.

"Uh.  _That_."

"What?"

"You don't blink. I swear I've had this conversation before."

"Not with me."

"And you're very direct."

"So are you."

"You're more monotonous, it's almost cutthroat. I'm honest, you just mean business. I'm blunt, you act as if you're personally victimized by BS."

"What of it?" The concise example made Reid exhale sharply, not quite a laugh, not quite a snort.

"That's why I'm glad I'm not an alpha male." He shrugged, like it would make all the sense in the world if he restated something he already said. Hotchner began to draw in a very deep breath, but Spencer could feel the exhale before it came, and his facial expression contorted into the beginning of a 'well, okay', sighing himself as he tilted his head. "I don't like unsettling people or making them feel smaller than me. Actually, I prefer to take advantage of my stature. I'm smaller, even if I'm taller, than most of the people I'm capable of getting information out of, children being the exception. This makes people trust me more. I'm not a threat to them."  
Slowly, Hotchner tipped his chin up, eyes drifting down as he processed this. Curiously, rather than complete the nod, his eyes flicked back to Reid's.

"A self-proclaimed omega, then."

"Ew." Reid's nose scrunched up. " _Please_ ," he lamented. "Whatever you know about wolf pack dynamics, it's wrong. The omega is used as a scapegoat and is often actually older than the puppy they're portrayed as." Aaron's face didn't change at all, and  _Reid's_  entire demeanor  _did_ , once he realized someone was genuinely interested in the lecture he was about to give. He shifted, pulling his foot in closer to his lap as he straightened his back.

"Everybody acts under the assumption that there can be only one alpha in a pack," he started, raising his hands as he did so. "When really, there are two, and they aren't the supreme, all-demanding leader we imagine. This concept actually came about from observing wolves held in captivity— uh, with less and less acreage, an omega wouldn't have the chance to escape the pack when he or she is effectively pushed out by mom and dad, or the alphas of the pack. An alpha female isn't rare at all, in fact, she's usually if not solely the brood mother. Other wolves may mate  _with_  her, but she is mated  _to_  the alpha male. The other wolves simply follow their lead because... I mean, wouldn't you follow your parents if you chose to stick around them?"

"Why would the omega be pushed out?"

Once more, Spencer was a little taken aback by the fact that he was being engaged, but he answered immediately, nonetheless. "Uh, th— they don't conform," he raised his eyebrows. "They're more subservient and really serve no purpose in the pack. Often, they don't even have to be pushed out, they just leave on their own, but in a small cage, like in a zoo, or even secluded to Yellowstone or Yosemite, they really don't have a choice. It's unnatural and sets the entire pack on edge. It's like living at your parents' house long enough to owe them rent and not having a job."

"Then I take it back. You're no omega. You have a very clearly defined place in our team— our pack, if you will. You're an irreplaceable asset. You know this."

"I know." He beamed. “And— and don't get me wrong, there's definitely love and respect throughout the entire pack. An alpha will protect an omega if it came down to a turf war, and omegas are very dedicated to their pack. They'll approach an alpha and lick their muzzle like kissing a mob boss' cheek," he grinned, and without thinking, he kissed his fingers, like he was about to blow a kiss, before gently smack-stamping Hotchner's cheek, causing his eyebrow to twitch.

Before he had time to respond (and before Spencer had time to realize what a monumental fuck up that was), a voice from beside them rang out.

" _What_  are you guys  _talking_  about? I tuned in at a  _really_  weird time."

"Reid was educating me about omegas," Hotchner filled in, not breaking eye contact with Spencer as he did so, dark eyes shining like a shark's. Reid swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as his own eyes threatened to betray him, to dart away.

Emily saved him, though, snorting and grabbing Aaron's attention.

 _"Every_  woman knows about the omega male," she rolled her eyes. "He's the creepy guy with the obscure interests, too much free time to learn about them, and the weird wardrobe who can't get a date and is lucky to have a friend." As she spoke, Spencer, who was wearing a purple button down with a green tie, quietly bumped his eyebrows and coughed a bit, shifting. He had become acutely uncomfortable, his gaze roaming, dejectedly twirling a bent pen cap with his fingers. "I'm talking bottom of the food chain, these guys are on the total fringe of mainstream society, if they haven't completely rejected it. A lot of them were just poor autistic kids who were never allowed to learn how to socialize because their parents tried too hard to shelter them. And they come in two flavors: computer obsessed neckbeard or technophobic frea—"

**"That's quite enough."**

Hotchner's words came down like a hammer, and Reid snapped his eyes to his boss' face, once more surprised.

"I was..." Too quiet. Start over. "I was talking about wolves, actually," Reid said tiredly, clearing his throat and nodding. He couldn't meet Emily's eye when she turned to look at him, and she was frozen, processing for a second before her mouth fell open, eyes widening. Since she'd arrived at the BAU, Emily had been striving to get off Reid's shit list. This clearly wouldn't earn her any favors, but more than just piss him off, he seemed genuinely saddened by her words.

"I'm..."

"That'll be  _all_ , Agent, thank you."

"Spencer, I'm so—"

"Unless you've anything further to report?"

Watching the two of them, waiting for one of them to blink, it was like watching the beginning of a game of tennis without knowing who was serving. After a few seconds of uncontested tension, Aaron simply raised his eyebrows, a dare, a challenge, and Prentiss was suddenly taking taking a step back. She extended a pained look towards Reid, biting her lip before she turned and charged towards a too-busy JJ, but not before whispering a quick, "Yes, Sir."

After a near thirty seconds of uncomfortable ankle bobbing, Reid gestured vaguely to his left. "I'm gonna-"

"Spencer," Hotchner interrupted, raising his eyes once more to the doctor. "Thank you." He was clearly thoughtful, that quiet, rich tone missing most of the tension that had entirely occupied it moments before. This was the voice he used with the families of missing children, or with his own child. It was the tone he used with close friends in intimate settings. (It was the tone he used with  _victims_ , and Spencer knew that, as comforting as Hotchner might've been trying to be, he was only proving Prentiss right; that was just a turf war between two viable alphas, and Spencer had just bore witness to the clearest example of pack mentality since the construction-vandal thrill kills: omegas that don't need protected would be defended, if it came to it. Emily was new enough to be considered an instinctive outsider.) 

Rather than acknowledge the thanks, nothing more than a strangled noise came from Reid's throat, like he was trying really hard not to say something unintelligent. Wordlessly, he hopped off the desk, raising his hands above his head and, for all to see, signed "bathroom". 

Aaron chose not to follow him, eyes frozen, staring at the wall where Spencer's eyes once met his, and he realized  _exactly_  what Spencer had realized moments before. He sighed, dropping his head, a hand raising to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

♛

Yes, Spencer had been visibly affected, but nothing would come between Doctor Reid and his job. Nobody would attest to that more than Hotchner (except perhaps Morgan, who had seen many of Reid’s darkest moments). Reid slipped out and back in before he could truly be missed, before anything pertinent had been revealed.

They’d received word from the kidnapper himself, who had holed himself up in a foreclosed hair salon, demanding a ransom; they were the FBI, were they not? They surely had access to copious amounts of money, and this logic was keeping Astasia alive. Hotchner had the feeling she was bargaining, and would continue to do so until she was blue in the face; she had won several medals for a debate club, and as Hotchner had examined the medallions, he couldn’t help but murmur to himself about how proud Jason would be of this girl he’d never met.

Aaron would have to be proud of her for him.

 “He doesn’t sound very confident with himself,” Morgan had observed, cautiously. “That doesn’t fit our alpha male profile.”

“Just wait,” Hotchner appeased. “Give him time. This is unfamiliar territory, the fact that he’s gone here at all- far outside his comfort zone- is him attempting to communicate to us that he isn’t afraid to take risks. We shouldn’t relax yet.” At his elbow, Dave nodded, crossing his arms.

“We could give him counterfeit money,” Reid suggested, his head perking up from where he had sat, bent over a notebook, his furious scribbling coming to a halt.

“Counterfeit?” JJ repeated, her attention caught. She might know a guy, whose name she was unable to confide.

“What good would that do?” Dave asked, brows raised skeptically. He was of the opinion that Reid sometimes went the long way unnecessarily. “We’re going to confiscate it when we get him anyway. We may as well just write him a check—I’ll do it right now!”

The BAU and several police officers watched, jaw slack, as Rossi reached out, pressing the _mute_ button once more, and the dim, pinkish-orange light was extinguished.

“After much careful consideration,” he began, voice careful, eyes distant as he thought ahead, “and with a heavy heart, we have collectively decided to honor your ransom. Ah— where can I meet you?” From his breast pocket, Rossi procured a checkbook and a golden, gilded pen, a fashion sense Hotchner had always secretly admired.  The pen clicked. “Is fifty thousand for Astasia your final offer?”

There was a slight hesitation, and then, distorted, a voice. “Why should I trust your enthusiasm?”

“The life of one girl is worth a collective chunk of our paychecks,” Rossi returned, conversationally, almost. He looked to Aaron briefly, and whether he was seeking approval or not, Aaron tipped his chin up slightly, offering his anyway. Despite the light nature of his words, nearly everybody gathered around the office phone was lightly shining with sweat.

“Seventy five thousand.”

“That’s a deal,” Rossi sighed, relieved, eyes floating to the ceiling. Perhaps this would be over before they thought. (Perhaps the unsub would try and be clever, setting a ‘trap’. At this point, it was nearly a given.) “May we speak with Astasia?”

“No.” The response came immediately, anxious. Rossi hesitated momentarily.

“That’s okay. I do want to see the girl before I give you the-“

“You are to bring me this money alone, without weaponry or accompaniment. You are to—” Hotchner reached out, tapping the mute button— “enter the building at three fifteen with your hands held high above your head. You are to place the money very slowly on the ground, and back up. I will release the little girl and we will go our separate ways.”

“He’s displaying dominant behavior and proceeding to follow the unsub’s directions,” Hotchner explained to a very confused looking, horrified police officer. He decided it best to speak up now before something stupid was blurted over the phone with the hostage taker. “It’s stroking his ego, he’s feeling incredibly empowered, having the FBI kneeling before him. He has no idea we have eyes on his every escape from every vantage point, officer, don’t worry. He has no hope of freedom today.” Placated, pale, the officer nodded, eyes trained on Rossi’s steady hand as it hovered over the button that would unmute the call.

When he tapped it, he injected a tasteful amount of ‘anxiety’ into his voice, sending a hand through his hair and exhaling shakily. “I’m not sure how I feel about walking into your den without protection of my own,” he projected, immediately closing his eyes, as if he’d intended to phrase it differently, but was praying for similar results anyway.

“You are permitted armor. I have no interest in harming you. Bring me the money and your life as well as the girl’s will be spared.”

“Thank you,” Rossi rushed, ‘relief’ palpable.  

“You will send Doctor Reid,” he demanded, suddenly, and the room tensed. Spencer, on the other hand, didn’t even blink. He had grown somewhat used to this. In fact, Reid looked more perplexed about the fact that the unsub could identify him by name, than the fact that he’d been requested. The unsub had been watching them, clearly.

When Rossi looked to him for confirmation, Reid mouthed the words ‘milk run’, nodding and signaling his approval with a cheeky thumbs up.

“Okay,” eased Dave, shifting his weight. “We can send Doctor Reid with no weapons and no company… For Astasia,” he reiterated.

When the voice responded, he sounded resentful. “For _Astasia,_ ” he agreed bitterly, as if releasing this girl wasn’t something he’d planned on doing so quickly. Hotchner imagined he’d defaulted to ransom when he realized he couldn’t run very far from the FBI with a girl in tow— Astasia had been a semi-finalist in a _national_ competition. He didn’t mind if it was a bit premature to accredit the idea to her. She was a smart girl with a strong faith in the justice system, she must have known that contacting the authorities would lead them directly to her. “Three fifteen on the _dot._ ”

Twenty five minutes later, Aaron Hotchner himself was helping Reid strap in, murmuring advice (use his profile, don’t say too much, be careful, be safe) the man was only passively listening to, focus primarily on the task at hand. JJ was front and center, encouraging the media to hype the exchange as well as refuse to allow any cameras on the premises; if the unsub saw how serious they were about following his instructions (and he _was_ watching the news, Aaron surmised), he may grow careless in his comfort.

Dropping Reid off down the block was the most difficult thing the team had done in weeks, comparatively. Three twelve, and Spencer was slowly, composed, walking down the street, hands partially raised to his shoulders, ahead of the game. Meanwhile, the BAU had circled around, lying in wait behind a vacated general store, just across the street. This town was suffering, financially. More stores were foreclosed than open to the public.

He hesitated only a moment, head down, hands up, eyes very carefully watching his watch, just barely in his line of vision. At three fifteen, Reid pushed the door open, and a pleasant, quaint chime greeted him.

“This is Doctor Reid,” he greeted, stepping forward and allowing the door to bump into his foot, so it wouldn’t be so loud when it swung shut. “I’m with the FBI, I’m a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, but you know who I am. I heard you asked for me specifically.” The salon was empty and dim, a flickering candle light emanating from the employees’ area, just visible from Spencer’s position. He slowly moved around a sign-in desk, one hand slowly dropping.

“I’m unarmed,” he confirmed, “and I’m going to get the money out of my pocket now, okay?” Cautiously, Spencer dropped to a knee, slowly slipping the check out of his pocket. He examined it for a moment, the sound of Rossi’s nib scraping against the paper ringing once more through Reid’s ears he penned his signature with a flourish. He took a deep, nearly-shaken breath, slowly planting the check on the tile before him, immediately returning his hand to the space above his head.

“Back away,” came a much more confident voice, deep and gravelly, unable to depend on the vocal distortion tools he’d leaned so heavily upon when calling the authorities. Obediently, Spencer rose to his feet, retreating several steps.

A gut twisting silence followed.

Reid briefly considered the possibility that Astasia had already been murdered, that this was an excuse to go down in a blaze of glory. If the unsub knew who Reid was, he must surely know that harming him would cause a hail of bullets to bring the building down. His belly sunk, hands beginning to grow clammy, before ( _finally, thankfully_ ) Astasia was ushered into the lobby. Her head was high, dignified, elbows bound together behind her back. Reid believed she was handling her own hostage situation with a level headed regality rarely found in teenagers, at first. He reached his hand out, however, and it very suddenly became apparent that it had been an act of self-preservation, her subdued, blank stare the only visible side-effect of a distended perception. She was hiding, somewhere in there. Derek would need to have a long conversation with this poor girl.

Once she was close enough, he wrapped an arm around her, and she eagerly leaned in. “I know you can’t use your arms, but we’ll get you out of all this duct tape soon, okay?” he asked, already backing away with her. She nodded, her entire body quivering with relief, with stress, and Spencer stroked her hair, pulling her along as quickly as possible without jostling her.

The air outside that door was the cleanest, freshest air Spencer had ever _tasted,_ his lungs having already stagnated from such a short period of time in the dilapidated building, and he could only imagine how horrible Astasia’s chest felt. As if on cue, she began coughing, lungs finding a rekindled reason to fight for air. Despite her dark skin, she was pale, unhealthily so, and _so skinny_ … She had been a clear target for her poor health.

Once out of the view of the door, he pulled a pocket knife, quickly (carefully) slicing the duct tape off her arms, and as if she belonged there, Astasia threw herself around Spencer’s neck, an onslaught of sobs wracking her body.

It occurred to Reid that if he were ever in a situation to pick up and hold a child he didn’t know very well, now would be that time. He stooped down, murmuring something soft as he scooped her up, bridal-fashion (as he wasn’t really certain how _else_ to carry a girl, especially a sixteen year old girl who was capable of being embarrassed by his actions).

Three nineteen and the exchange had been made. He didn’t look back, his head tipped slightly to the side so Astasia’s wet cheeks could press into the crook of his neck, knowing that the moment he crossed this police tape, Hotch, Morgan, and JJ and Prentiss would charge in from two separate entrances. Rossi would likely mosey along to independently collect (and shred) the check he’d written.

Though he knew his team was shouting, guns raised, Spencer couldn’t imagine anything more peaceful than the moment he carefully deposited Astasia into the back of an ambulance. How badly he wanted to let her cling, to tell her it would be okay, but there was blood soaking the insides of her thighs, and two EMTs were immediately draping a blanket around her shoulders, taking her vitals.

He understood, now. He understood the connection Derek forged with children, understood the wallet photo Jason Gideon had given him. He understood Prentiss’ mournful what-ifs on several jets back, her insistence that she _could_ adopt this kid, she _could_ be a good mom for that boy, that girl.

Spencer had bonded with individuals the BAU rescued, but it had always been most effective with those who shared his age group, or his mental instability. He knew nothing about Astasia that he hadn’t learned from invading her privacy, shuffling through journals and photo albums, and yet, the feeling of relief that had washed over her when she had collapsed into his chest… It would stick with him for a while.

 _He_ did that. _He_ made a child feel safe.

And when it was over, when the abductor had been apprehended, after the team returned and everybody took turns hugging Reid and congratulating him on a job well done, he rode in the back of the ambulance with Astasia and her father, a single parent who cried profusely in his gratitude.

♛

Here’s what the job consisted of.

Every day, the bullpen would occupy itself with the BAU, a teeming center of some of the most intelligent, dedicated people Aaron had ever had the privilege of meeting as they laughed with one another, performing card tricks, air-guitar solos and nagging each other to hydrate. Every day, Aaron Hotchner observed his family interact from the open door of his office, arms folded as a smile slowly (but surely) crept across his countenance, something an untrained eye would fail to notice; something the BAU could spot from an airplane.

And every _other_ day, this family charged with determined eyes and high tails through the air to come to the rescue, to make a difference, to _restore hope_ to the hearts of the wronged in just a few days. His brothers and sisters would proceed to pour their hearts into bettering the lives of these strangers, endangering their own for the sake of a better world, and they would amass on the jet once more, licking their wounds and each other’s on the way _home._ From there, they would hold onto one another, flocking to the night life (because really, if not a night life, what personal life _was_ there?), their own children, their family. Aaron knew he wouldn’t let go of Jack tonight, and JJ had been fiddling with her sister’s pendant since Reid had raised his teary eyes from Astasia’s hair. Always, they were ready to answer that call, sacrificing life, limb, and sleep. Aaron wished he could be more forgiving on them, but he honestly didn’t think they would accept the tenderness.  

Aaron circled the catwalk before he descended the stairs, deciding to inject himself into the conversation— Garcia had been eager to rush out and greet them upon arrival, it was only fair that she be offered the opportunity to bestow to him his own theatrical welcome.

Before he had the chance to say something coy, Aaron witnessed something that chilled him to the bone, his stomach flipping with horror.

Derek and Spencer had been having their own private conversation, slightly segregated from the group, Spencer cross legged on his own desk while Derek looked up at him. Aaron had watched them. Occasionally, Derek would pull on Spencer’s shoe lace and the doctor would absently tie his shoe in a subtle retaliation, or Derek would shift something on Spencer’s desk and that object would be quietly replaced, all the while, their conversational flow unwavering.

When Derek stood, however, he paused, and… _pulled his elbow back, balling his fist as he turned back towards Spencer._

Aaron wasn’t sure too many people had watched this transpire, but he was suddenly white-knuckling the safety rail on the stairs, the shock of such a sight paralyzing his feet. And the _sound…_ Caused everybody to turn their heads sharply, conversations petering off.

Derek and Spencer, however, were grinning, Spencer’s hand having reached up instinctively to catch the fist, and Derek wasn’t pressing very hard against his palm. Around them, their team watched on, equally as perplexed.

It all made too much sense to Aaron, however, when Derek clapped his other hand against Spencer’s shoulder, and proclaimed that, “You did good today, Alpha Male.”


End file.
